Текст книги "The masked witches"

Автор книги: Richard Lee Byers

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Vandar smiled a crooked smile. You re right, he said. The ant doesn t understand, or at least, not much. But I take it you agree that my friends and I are doing something worthwhile. That being so, will you help us?

I ll call back my anger, certainly, said the apparition.

Vandar hacked for so long and hard that he felt like he might pass out for lack of breath. But when the fit ended, his head and chest felt clear, as though he d expelled every particle of phlegm. And nothing ached anymore.

Thank you, Vandar said. He hesitated, and then, impatient with his own caution, pushed onward. Truly. But is that it? All you did is cure the sickness you gave us yourself.

The phantom smiled. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, as a wisp of cloud drifted past the moon.

Did I find something to like about your kind once, for a moment or two in the morning of the world? it said. Perhaps and it may be more than chance that led you here to disturb my rest. Even more unlikely things have happened, I suppose. But I m not like your Stag King. I no longer march to war. My own vows would scrape me to nothing if I tried. But that means I no longer need what I once carried to war.

The apparition waved its hand. Something rumbled, and a patch of snow collapsed in on itself. Or rather, Vandar realized, peering, it was falling into a hole like a deep and irregular grave that had opened beneath it.

Climb down, the phantom said.

Wonderful, Vandar thought. According to every word on the subject he d ever heard, simply treading on a fey mound was dangerous. Entering one was a hundred times more so. Still, the phantom itself had opened the way, and if it meant to do him further harm, it scarcely needed to be tricky about it. It already had him at its mercy.

Besides, what sort of berserker, let alone a berserker chieftain, refused a dare?

Clinging to pieces of the frozen earth, Vandar clambered downward, and shadow swallowed him. The only remaining light came from the stars directly overhead and their gleam on the snow below. That was why it wasn t until he reached the bottom that he realized the starlight was glinting on more than snow.

Once, he thought, a body might have rested in the hole. But if so, time had obliterated every trace of bone, flesh, hair, or clothing, or at least every one he might otherwise have noticed in the dark. But, not corroded, tarnished, or even dirty, were a long spear and broadsword that remained. They appeared to be made entirely of some strange crimson metal, even the shaft of the spear.

The sword s scabbard had fasteners to clip it on his hip. The spear was more awkward to manage, but by running it down his back and through his belt, he managed to carry both weapons up out of the hole.

What do you think? asked the apparition, irony keen as any blade in its voice. Are the arms worthy of an Iron Lord in waiting?

Making sure not to point it at the phantom, Vandar lowered the spear into a guard position. Though he was far more proficient with a sword, even he could feel how light and perfectly balanced the weapon was. It seemed awake and eager in his hands, an instrument capable of killing even dragons and demons as required.

I m no Old One, he said, but even I can feel these are full of magic. What do they do?

I can t tell you that, the guardian said, because the weapons behave differently in every set of hands. They magnify what you already are. Knowing that, do you still want them?

Of course! Vandar exclaimed. Except for a place in my lodge and the griffons I ve never wanted anything more. He bowed as deeply as he was able.

And I thank you with all my heart.

As well you should, replied the phantom. And now you have everything I had to give. Well, except advice. I told you I don t see everything. No one does, not the wisest prophet in the bright world or the cleverest seer in the dark one. But now that I m taking an interest, I see something.

Vandar had grown at least a little accustomed to the spectral presence of the guardian, but suddenly his mouth went dry all over again. What do you see? he asked.

I see treachery and murder flying down from the sky. I see that you shouldn t trust the outlanders.

Vandar opened his mouth to ask for more, but before he could, the guardian vanished. The gap in the earth closed at the same instant, just as swiftly, silently, and completely. If not for the spear in his hand and the weight of the blade hanging on his hip, he might almost have wondered if the conversation had only been a dream.

His feelings were mixed as he strode back down the mound. Naturally, a part of him was jubilant. There would have been cause for joy if the guardian had simply lifted the curse, but it had done much more. It had given him enchanted fey weapons and as much as prophesied that he would win the griffons and rise to be a great man in the days to come. And when his brothers spotted him descending and started cheering, their vigor restored, it made the moment even sweeter.

Yet even so, when his own gaze fell on Cera and Jet, he felt a pang of disquiet.

It wasn t difficult to believe that Aoth and Jhesrhi might ultimately play him false. Fighting for coin instead of kin or hearth, sellswords were little better than bandits, and dishonorable by definition. In addition to which, the war mage plainly thought himself above everyone else why else did he constantly try to order others around? The tall, slender elementalist was as cold a woman as Vandar had ever met, even if she did have fire running in her veins.

But Cera was the servant of a god, and he liked her friendly conversation, saucy jokes, and general good cheer, as well as her willingness to take a turn at performing the various chores camp life required. She made a striking contrast to Yhelbruna s grim taciturnity on the trek into the High Country. And Jet was the living emblem of courage and fidelity as the Griffon Lodge defined them.

Still, the griffon was also a winged war steed, and when his Thayan master commanded it, he could plunge down from on high and kill a man like a falcon killing a rabbit.

I ll watch them, Vandar resolved. I ll watch and see what happens.

Mario Bez looked on as two of his crew examined the weathered menhir by the silvery glow of conjured phosphorescent orbs. One of his experts to give them more credit than was probably their due was a tubby-horned runt of a tiefling warlock who claimed considerable knowledge of the denizens of the lower worlds. The other, in spiked gauntlets and a red-trimmed jupon, was a human priestess of Tempus the Foehammer. In theory, she would provide the insights of an exponent of divine magic, as opposed to the arcane variety that the tiefling, Bez himself, and a dozen others aboard the Storm of Vengeance practiced.

It was a cold night, with a frigid wind whistling down from the higher peaks, and Bez s scholars had been at their task for a while. The skyship was presently anchored on a broad ledge on the mountainside above the standing stone, and those of the mining village far below it. The lights burning aboard her taunted a shivering son of the Shining South with the possibility of warmth. Still, nipping at a flask of Sembian brandy, Bez managed to curb the impulse to urge his subordinates to hurry. Nothing good could come of that. Instead, he comforted himself with the reflection that at least the stone wouldn t suddenly run away and hide.

Olthe, the Foehammer s battleguard, stepped back from the monument. She was as big and as broad-shouldered as many a fighting man, and could swing a battle-axe to as deadly an effect when she channeled the war god s power. Or she could just grab a man and break his back over her knee, as Bez had witnessed in several camp fights and tavern brawls.

Presumably she d completed her investigations, so he tossed her the flask. What have you learned? he asked.

The trap has two fiends inside it, she replied. Her alto voice was melodious and cultured, a perennial surprise issuing from her lumpish face and brutish frame.

I believe there might even be three, said Melemer the tiefling, his yellow eyes slightly chatoyant in the starlight.

Olthe glared. You re wrong, she said.

Melemer spread his hands. Of course, battleguard, he replied. If you re certain of your estimate, then be assured, I m certain of it, too. In combat, he was as brave as any mercenary Bez had ever known, but away from the battlefield, it was always his way to apologize, flatter, and defer at least until the person who d offended him dropped his guard.

It doesn t much matter if it s two or three, Bez said, as long as they aren t too powerful. What can you tell me about that?

I think we re all right, Olthe said. She glowered again at Melemer, like she was daring him to contradict her.

But she d already lost Bez s attention. He pivoted and peered up the slope at the murky, faceless figure approaching in a silent, flowing way that somehow looked like creeping and bounding at the same time. Melemer raised his hands, and his several rings, each made of a different metal and engraved with a different glyph, shone like his eyes.

Bez whipped out his dagger and rapier and came on guard. Lightning crawled and crackled in the smaller blade, and frost formed on the larger.

Olthe spun her axe through cuts, blocks, and flourishes and chanted a battle hymn. Though she wasn t directing the challenge at him, Bez still felt the words ring and reverberate inside him.

The shadow didn t seem daunted by the prayer or anyone else s demonstration of power. It kept coming, only halting when light rippled inside it, and its vague, flat form swelled into something constant and three-dimensional.

The transformation only took a heartbeat or two, and when it was finished, Dai Shan bowed with an elegance that somehow conveyed both impeccable courtesy and nonchalance. My valiant associates, he said.

What in the Destroyer s name are you doing here? Bez demanded.

I wanted to confer with you, Dai Shan said, so I sent one of my servants to find you. When I sensed that it had, I inhabited it, turning it into a window through which you and I can speak for the relatively brief time the magic will last.

Bez quelled the murderous forces seething inside his weapons and lowered them to point at the ground. But at that moment, a cordial greeting was beyond him. Maybe it was because, though they d scoured the country from Immilmar east to the mountains, he and his company hadn t found a trace of any of the sundry bands of undead witches, werewolves, and what-have-yous that were supposedly wandering around committing atrocities. Whereas it seemed the Shou only had to dispatch one lone phantom to locate a flying vessel with minimal difficulty. In a better mood, Bez might have found some humor in that, but for the moment, it aggravated his frustration.

And perhaps that was why he examined the merchant s words in his mind, and, began to doubt. Immilmar is west, he said, and, responding to his suspicion and hostility, the potential for more lightning and searing, heart-stopping chill quivered inside his blades. Your ghost, or whatever it was, slunk down from the east.

Dai Shan s slight smile didn t waver. Naturally, the shadow couldn t just travel to you in a straight line, he said. It had to wander back and forth before spotting you at last.

When I said it was coming down from the east, Bez persisted, I meant, sneaking down from the spot where the Storm is moored. We ve been carrying a stowaway ever since we left Immilmar, haven t we? One emplaced to spy on us or worse. He raised the rapier and dagger, and his silent command made their magic flare anew. Taking their cue from him, Olthe and Melemer dropped back into fighting stances.

Dai Shan took a nonchalant step back.

I implore you, he said, consider that I m not really here. If you destroy this thing, all you ll do is bring our parley to a fruitless and premature end.

Bez sneered. And why, merchant, would I want to talk to a false friend who snuck a horror aboard my ship?

Dai Shan s smile widened just a bit. Stalwart captain, had you not opted to make yourself the foremost soldier of the age, I m confident you would have won equal distinction as a poet or a player, for you unquestionably have the requisite flair for the dramatic. Things that rise from shadow have their appetites, and I won t insult your intelligence by suggesting otherwise. But I never let this one slip the leash, and even if I had, how could one little phantom truly threaten a warrior who s fought giants and malebranches in his time?

Bez smiled a grudging smile. It always feels strange to talk to you, Shou. I think it s because I m used to being the glib one. Do you swear the shadow was only aboard to spy and give you and me a way to talk if need be? You didn t plan anything worse?

August warlord, in my father s sight, I swear it, Dai Shan replied. May I also point out that, if my poor intermediary s presence on your vessel was inappropriate, at least you re rid of it now. It won t survive to board a second time.

Bez extinguished the power burning in his weapons and slid them back into their sheaths. All right. Forget it for now, if only because you re right. I can t thrust a sword into the real Dai Shan across the length of this wretched country. So what do you want, anyway?

I want you to return to Immilmar to pick me up.

Why?

Well, that s the part that s slightly awkward. I ll explain when my true self is aboard the skyship. Until then, I m asking you to trust me.

Bez snorted. No offense, merchant, but that s not going to happen. I offered to work with you, not blindly carry out your commands.

But, stalwart and sagacious captain, surely you see that the real problem is my inability to repose complete and utter faith in you. If I told you now where you ought to sail and why, perhaps you would simply do so immediately without bothering to collect me. And then how could I convince the hathrans that I played even a minor part in the achievements that will follow?

Bez grunted. I ll think about it, he said.

Dai Shan frowned ever so slightly. It was about as much of a display of sincere emotion as he ever permitted himself. In its way, his face was as much of a mask as any the witches wore.

Obviously, the little Shou said, I understand why such a shrewd leader of men prefers to weigh his decisions carefully. But if we lose our means of communication before you say yes or no, that will leave me in an awkward and ambiguous position.

Bez sneered. That s your problem, he said.

Indeed it would be. As your problem is chasing a quarry you haven t caught and will never catch without my guidance. Clearly, you realize it, too, or you wouldn t be meddling with a demon trap in the middle of a frigid night.

We re looking for clues that will lead us to the enemy.

Master strategist, wily tactician, scourge of the Dragon Coast, I have the utmost respect for your intelligence. I ask you to respect mine as well. Plainly, you paid attention to the tales of the durthans and their ilk breaking open the old Raumathari menhirs. Frustrated by your inability to locate the actual foe, you ve decided to open a stone yourself, kill whatever s inside, and carry the carcass back to Immilmar as a trophy.

Just for amusement s sake, let s say you re right. What of it?

If I may be forthright, it s a weak ploy. It may slightly elevate Yhelbruna s opinion of you, but it won t convince her you ve made any fundamental progress toward accomplishing the task she set us. Whereas if you honor my request

All right! Bez snapped. I ll come for you. And if it turns out you re wasting my time, well, you ll be in reach of my blades then, won t you?

Indeed, Dai Shan said. Until I see you next. He bowed deeply, and his body broke apart and disappeared, like it was crumbling into a dust so fine the eye couldn t see it.

After a moment, Melemer chuckled. I like that one, he said.

Bez grinned. You would, he replied. You both have weasel blood flowing in your veins. But don t get too attached to him.

So, Olthe said, nodding toward the monument.

We re giving up on this?

No, said Bez. We re already here. And whether the idea s a weak ploy or not, I don t feel like going back to the Iron Lord and the Wychlaran empty-handed.

Fair enough, the priestess said, frowning.

The only problem I see is that while we don t know if those miners down there have noticed any undead lurking about, someone probably has noticed the Storm sitting on the mountainside. What if the villagers figure out that we freed the demons ourselves? What if they send word to the Iron Lord? I admit, it s unlikely

More than unlikely, said Bez, impossible. The fiends are going to prove just what a terrible threat they are by wiping out the village. Well, technically, we re going to do it for them, but I m sure that if they knew, they d appreciate our efforts on their behalf. Then, after we finish the miners, we ll crack open the trap, kill its prisoners, and take their heads.

NINE

A griffon is about to fly down among us! Aoth shouted in Elvish. Don t shoot at him! He s Jet, my steed that I told you about!

Everyone stood and waited for the creature to appear, and shortly thereafter, Aoth pointed with his spear and said, There. Then an enormous shadow swept over the snowy ground.

Jet swooped to the ground. Heeding Aoth s warning, no one attacked the griffon. But some of the stag warriors couldn t resist the impulse to raise their weapons.

Jet looked them over and snorted. Relax, he rasped, I m not going to hurt you. Now, if you were centaurs or maybe not. I ve seen things lately that put me off horseflesh.

So you told me, Aoth said. He advanced, scratched among the feathers atop the griffon s head, then lifted Cera out of the saddle and gave her a hug.

The Stag King strode up to them, and to Jet, with no apparent hesitation. Either he was confident the griffon wouldn t lash out at him, or he was simply unwilling to act timidly.

Highness, said Aoth, this is Cera Eurthos, sunlady of Soolabax, and Jet, my familiar. Cera, Jet, this is the Stag King.

Smiling, Cera moved her hand in an arc, and for a moment, the pale winter sunlight shone brighter and felt warmer. Hello, she said. The Keeper s blessing on you and all your company.

The Stag King grunted. Your god doesn t love me, cleric, nor I, him, he said. How near are these berserkers of yours?

Cera blinked. You should meet up well before dusk, she said.

Then let s pick up the pace, the spirit said, and find out what this army of ours looks like when we put it all together. Turning away, he swung his antler weapon over his head to urge the company onward.

Well, the priestess said. That was a gracious welcome.

Even though he hails from the Feywild rather than the Shadowfell, Aoth replied, he s a dark thing, like the fomorians, and perhaps not partial to clerics of the light.

Aoth, Cera, Jhesrhi, and Jet started forward amid the stag men, most of whom were still keeping a cautious eye on the griffon and making sure they didn t get too close.

But enough about him, Aoth said. By the Pure Flame, it s good to see you again! Both of you! What s your impression of the Griffon Lodge? How s their morale?

Oh, that s no problem, said Jet, a sardonic note in his voice.

Meaning what? Aoth replied.

Jet said he told you about the fey mound, Cera said.

Yes, said Aoth. It s a miracle that any traveler ever gets anywhere in Rashemen, considering that you have to change direction or stop to make an offering to a spirit twenty times a day. But my understanding was that Vandar did mollify the guardian, and it lifted the curse.

It did, Cera said, but then something else started to happen. Gradually, so Jet and I didn t notice at first. That s why you re only hearing about it now. Keeping her voice low, she explained what she meant.

When she finished, Aoth said, I hate this stinking country.

Like Mangan Uruk s castle, the Fortress of the Half-Demon was built of gray stone and black iron, but it had an even more massive and squared-off look to it. Apparently the round towers and turrets that graced the stronghold in Immilmar were a Rashemi innovation.

The ancient Nars, however, had adorned if that was the right word the citadel with a huge iron gate cast in the form of a snarling inhuman face. At some point in the centuries that followed, the leaf on the right side had fallen from its hinges. That left only one profile of the ghastly countenance standing, and, Aoth assumed, inspired the name the place had borne ever since.

Lying prone to peer over a rise, he shifted his gaze from the gate to the battlements. Someone or something was moving around up there, but Aoth was so far away that even his eyes were having trouble discerning what. Hoping it would help, he touched a tattoo that sent a bracing thrill of vigor through his body. He squinted, too, and the tiny figures came into focus.

One was a squat little goblin spearman with greenish skin, pointed ears, and a shaggy mane of hair sticking out in all directions from under his conical helmet. The other was considerably larger. Indeed, if the stooped thing stood up straight, it might be taller than the Stag King. Judging from its long arms, spindly frame, and warty carrot of a nose, it was likely a troll, although its white, glistening skin distinguished it from any such creature Aoth had encountered farther south. So did its mail, crossbow, and falchion.

The trolls of his experience were scarcely more intelligent than beasts. They lived like beasts in the wild, and even when some enterprising commander managed to tame one and use it as a soldier, it was rarely given weapons or armor. There was no point. In the excitement of battle, a troll would almost always strip away the gear and assail the foe with fang and claw.

The white trolls of the North Country were evidently different. But not, Aoth suspected, so different as to pose an insurmountable problem. He was more concerned about reanimated durthans and other undead, but there were none in view for the scouting.

Of course, that only made sense. Even undead who could tolerate sunlight didn t like it. So why would they man the battlements by day when their living allies creatures who d thrown in with the durthans during the Witch War and had rallied to their cause again could do it for them?

When he judged that he d seen all he was going to, Aoth crawled backward far enough so that no one on the battlements would see him when he stood up. He tramped back to the relatively clear patch of rolling heath where his allies waited and was pleased to find that, though the berserkers and the stag men didn t show any signs of having become fast friends in his absence, the two groups at least appeared to be tolerating one another. Perhaps they found each other so strange that their first impulse was to marvel rather than feel fear or revulsion.

Vandar was sitting on a stump with a number of his lodge brothers gathered around him. When he spotted Aoth returning, he beckoned to him with a flick of his new spear. To fire-kissed eyes, the red metal gleamed with something more than reflected sunlight; Aoth could see the enchantments flowing and seething inside it.

That didn t make it any less annoying to be summoned like a subordinate. Still, it seemed too petty a matter to complain about, and Vandar s current location was as good a spot for a parley as any. Aoth headed for it as requested. He just made sure he didn t hurry.

What did you find out? Vandar asked.

Aoth glanced around and found that, as expected, the Stag King, Cera, Jhesrhi, Jet, and Zyl had begun converging on their location.

Let s wait until everyone can hear. Then I ll only have to tell it once.

Vandar scowled. As you wish, he said. He sounded like he was doing Aoth a favor.

Cera and Jet were right, Aoth thought. Vandar was different. He d thought that at least a grudging trace of camaraderie had grown up between the berserker and himself, but if so, there was no sign of it. Instead, Vandar seemed even testier and more suspicious than on the occasion of their first meeting.

Were the red sword and spear exerting a psychic influence? Aoth had never borne such weapons and wouldn t want to, but he d heard stories about them.

If the weapons were to blame, Aoth supposed he might as well get used to the new Vandar. For it was plain that he prized the enchanted arms too highly to ever give them up.

Once all the leaders of the expedition had gathered around, and many of the berserkers, too, Aoth proceeded to tell them what he d observed. When he reached the part about the big white creature on the battlements, Vandar grinned and said, That was an ice troll. Fighting them is one way we Rashemi keep in practice for killing Thayans.

The berserker s lodge brothers laughed.

Aoth swallowed a pang of irritation. I m glad you recognize it, he said. You can tell me and the other southerners about them later. For now, let s talk about our next move.

Isn t it obvious? Vandar asked. You say the gate is open. The sun is shining, so the undead are at their weakest. Let s go take the castle!

His lodge brothers clamored in agreement. Some screeched in a fair imitation of griffons and swept out their arms like they were spreading a pair of wings. Startled by the outburst, the stag warriors stepped back from it and some even leveled their spears. Fortunately, though, they weren t rattled enough to actually strike out at their human allies.

When the uproar had died down, Aoth said, You have to remember, the enemy aren t idiots. Since they can t close the gate, they ve protected it some other way.

How? Vandar asked.

I don t know yet.

Yet?

I need to get closer and look at the castle from different angles. Jet and I should fly over under cover of darkness.

That s stupid. The undead will be out, and they can see in the dark. Come to think of it, so can trolls and goblins.

Aoth smiled. But they can t see as far in it as I can, he said. Jet and I will be all right, and afterward, we ll all have a better idea of what we re facing.

Vandar shook his head. I don t like it, he said.

Why not?

The durthans surely send out patrols, including undead patrols by night. The longer we delay attacking, the more likely it is that they ll notice we re here. Then we lose the advantage of surprise.

His followers growled their agreement.

We re still a way from the fortress, said Aoth. We can stay hidden for a little while.

If you humans stop screaming, rasped Jet, that will help.

The berserkers looked somewhat nonplussed that their own totem had rebuked them. Or some of them did. Vandar appeared unfazed.

I still say we should go now, he said.

And how many strongholds have you taken over the course of your military career? Aoth wondered sourly. Aloud, he said, Understand, there s some cover on the approach to the gate. But even so, the guards will see you long before you reach the castle.

Vandar grinned. Then we ll run fast, he said.

Aoth turned and looked up at the Stag King. What do you think, Highness? he asked.

The fey lord frowned and fingered his chin. I think that boldness often carries the day, he said at length. But it s more likely to do so when combined with knowledge of the foe s capabilities.

That wiped the smirk off Vandar s square-jawed face. For though he might despise Thayans, he d been taught his whole life to respect spirits and the fey. Aoth felt a flicker of hope that the Rashemi would give way.

Vandar stood up. He still had to look up at the hulking figure before him, but it put them more eye to eye.

Highness, he said, I know you re old and wise. But you re not the only one who is. A similarly impressive spirit prophesied that I m going to lead my brothers to victory. As a token, it gave me this he hefted the red spear and this. He gripped the hilt of the scarlet sword.

Aoth wondered if the guardian of the mound truly had said precisely that. Since no one else had heard the conversation, there was no way to know. But somehow, he doubted it.

Judging from his crooked smile, maybe the Stag King did, too. But all he said was, Take it from one who knows: Even wise old spirits don t see everything. Or necessarily speak the whole truth in a form the hearer understands.

Vandar frowned. But there was nothing confusing about this, he said. And so, Highness, with all respect, I tell you that my brothers and I are going to go take that castle. I ll be honored if you and your warriors fight alongside us. But if not, we ll manage on our own.

The spirit snorted. No need for that, mortal, he said. We came to fight, and we will.

At that, the berserkers couldn t resist the impulse to howl and flap their arms some more. Some even pummeled one another, or gashed their cheeks with knives. Infected rather than alarmed by the excitement, stag warriors brandished their weapons, nodded vigorously, and set the bells in their antlers chiming. Meanwhile, Aoth exchanged glances with his fellow outlanders.

Cera looked worried, and Jhesrhi and Jet plainly shared Aoth s disgust. You handled that well, the griffon said.

If you could have done better, Aoth replied, that was the time to show it. Because the fact of the matter is, I m not the commander of this force, and neither the Stag King nor Vandar is much inclined to defer to my opinion anytime it differs from his own.

Yet when the commotion had died down and everyone had started preparing to march on the citadel, he approached the Stag King anyway.

You didn t warn me you were bringing me such a reckless ally, the spirit said.

He s even more headstrong now than when I first met him, Aoth replied. But I wouldn t say you tried all that hard to talk him out of his plan. If it even deserves to be called a plan.

You heard him, the Stag King said. He was going to do what he wanted no matter what anyone said, even me or a talking griffon. Do you think we should let him and his comrades go assault the castle by themselves?

No, Aoth replied. He had needed an army, and he had one. He couldn t let it come apart to be slaughtered piecemeal. We ll just have to be as cunning as he is foolhardy and find a way to make this work.